


Corpo to Street Kid

by Vaedana



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Complex relationships, Conspiracy, Cybernetic Implants, Degradation, Dom/sub, Drugs, Kidnapping, Multi, Murder, Prostitution, Sex, Torture, Vaginal Sex, non-con surgery, political distress, social distress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29226888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaedana/pseuds/Vaedana
Summary: Allison Jones enjoyed her corporate life as an assistant to Biotechnica’s top headhunter. But that life was taken when she suffered from a common Night City affliction of Wrong Place, Wrong Time. When she’s taken by Scavs and sold to Clouds, the popular and exclusive sex club, she finds that her freedom wasn’t the only thing taken from her. Her life is no longer her own, and neither is her body. But she quickly realizes that she wasn’t simply tweaked for profit. Someone has installed cyberware in her that has capabilities unheard of on the market, legal or black. In a gilt cage full of faux smiles and unspoken threats, can she find the help she needs to discover who tampered with her implants and why? Or will she succumb to the Night City nightlife that she’s been programmed to enjoy?
Comments: 12
Kudos: 16





	1. A Bright Future

**Author's Note:**

> These stories are meant purely for entertainment and/or dark fantasy fulfillment. They serve as a form of therapy for me and possibly others, so try not to judge their contents too harshly. In no way do I condone rape or non-consensual situations. No means no, people.

Allison Jones was awake before the alarm in her room went off, as usual. She heard it click off as she rinsed the shampoo from her long, black hair. Hurrying to finish, she stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her slender frame. Still dripping, she stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway.

Now that she was out, she could hear the flood of city sounds. There was never a moment of true silence in Night City. One could always hear the steady hum and regular beeps of machines, the buzz of traffic, and the occasional roar of aircraft overhead. Not to mention, the constant bombardment of advertisements, both visual and audible.

But she was lucky. Working for the elite, she was very near to living in the lap of luxury. Her apartment was high in the sky, on the twenty- seventh floor of the skyscraper that housed some of the more prominent figures in Night City. If she lived anywhere else, she'd likely also hear the misery of the metropolis—gunshots, the cries of the far less fortunate, and the occasional scream from someone suffering from cyberpsychosis.

No, her muted apartment was a wonderful bonus for working for Abigail Eden, headhunter for the mega corporation Biotechnica. Abigail found the talent and reaped the rewards, and as her assistant, Allison got to ride the coattails of her success. At eighteen years old, it was quite the prestigious position, and Allison was pleased with it. For now.

Allison was smart enough to know a sinking ship when she saw one, and Abigail was going down fast. She'd been hard-pressed to find people willing to work for a mega comp with crime on the rise and the people blaming "the suits". Everyone knew another corporate war was brewing, and no one down there was looking to draw attention to themselves. As such, people have noticed the drop in Abigail's numbers, and it was high time Allison distanced herself from her boss, proved her worth on her own.

But right now, she had a more pressing need. Dripping wet and wearing nothing but her towel, she slunk down the hall and into her bedroom. Her boyfriend was out of bed, pulling his shirt on with a yawn. She stood by the door, waiting for him to notice her. He glanced up as he shuffled to the door and gave her a small smile. Not the reaction she was hoping for, but he was still closing the distance between them. He paused, giving her a chaste kiss on the lips...

"Good morning."

…and shuffled right out of the room. The feeling of rejection was immediate, powerful, and ridiculous. She knew he'd just gotten out of bed. Perhaps he was even too bleary to recognize the invitation in her smile. But just once, she wanted to see heat in his eyes when he looked at her. Real need that wouldn't be satisfied until he had her in his arms. She was on top of everything else in her life. She wouldn't mind giving the reins to someone else. Once in a while.

Well, she could stand here in self-pity, or she could officially announce her intentions as she usually had to. She walked back to the bathroom where he had just finished washing his hands and splashing his face. As he reached blindly for the towel, she slipped it from around her and handed it to him.

"Thanks, hon," he mumbled into the cloth as he dried his face.

Lowering the towel, he hung it on its hook and gave her another smile... before turning and leaving the bathroom.

She wanted to scream. She was naked, for fuck's sake. Not even a glance below her eyes. She looked down at herself. She was average height with a slender frame, and she was in good shape thanks to her strict diet and workout schedule. As Abigail said, 'no one wants to work for ugly people'. Her breasts were fairly petite, but there was still a good handful there. Any person would feel lucky to have her in their bed. Right?

With a sigh, she stalked back to the bedroom where he was getting dressed.

"Greg," she addressed him more shortly than she'd intended. Softening her voice as he looked up, she declared, "I'd like to have sex."

Taken aback, he stared at her, and she could practically see him weighing the pros and cons.

“Right now?" he clarified, smiling as if expecting her to reveal her joke.

"Yes," she replied decisively. "Right now."

His smile turned bemused.

"I haven't even had breakfast, yet," he reasoned.

"Neither have I," she countered.

"I'm leaving a little earlier for work today," he continued, buttoning his clean shirt.

"Why?" she asked with a frown.

“I want to grab a coffee on the way to work," he answered, pulling on his shoes. "The season for my favorite flavor is ending soon. And traffic will be Hell, like always."

Coffee. She was being rejected for coffee. She tried not to let the crushing disappointment show on her face.

"Besides," he added, lacing each shoe with ritualistic habit, "don't you have that big meeting today?"

Of course she did. But she knew damn well she had time for a quickie, as did he. And besides, she would risk being late if he grabbed her right now and threw her on the bed—

"Thursday," he told her, kissing her on the cheek. "After work. I'll rock your world then."

He gave her one of his goofy smiles and strode out of the room, continuing his morning ritual.

Thursday. Their set ‘do it’ day. Every other day was either too full, or too lazy.

One of her hands curled into a fist at her side, shaking slightly, then went slack.

She continued with her own ritual, then, sinking into the numbness of it, letting it rule her movements, her expressions, her speech. By the time she was ready to go, she was the corporate assistant to Abigail Eden, headhunter for Biotechnica. And today would be the day she changed that.

She kissed Greg on the cheek and left, getting in her cab for the trip to work. As she watched the towering buildings pass by, she went over her plan for the day's big meeting. If she played her cards right, she'd have a new job by the end of the day. If not, she'd be looking for a new one.

The car pulled up to the office tower, and she climbed out, feeling confident. But as she moved toward the entrance, she felt a tug on her sleeve, and she looked down to see a child of maybe eight or nine years looking up at her with wide eyes in a sunken face.

"Do you have any food?" the little boy asked meekly.

She glanced toward the entrance. She could just walk away, pretend she didn't see him. But even she thought that would be just a tad too cold.

"Sure," she sighed, reaching into her bag for the norimaki pack she was saving for lunch.

As she handed it to the boy, a woman approached, looking ragged and worn in her stained, unkempt clothes.

"Got anything else?" she asked in a scratchy voice, eyeing Allison's bag.

Allison's eyes swept over the woman. The homeless were getting desperate if they were coming here for help...

"That’s all I have,” Allison responded shortly before turning and walking toward the entrance.

"Come on, not even a few ennies?” the woman pressed, keeping a shuffling stride with her.

"No time, excuse me, "Allison told her curtly, nodding at the doorman as he opened the door for her.

As the door closed behind her, she heard an angry shout.

"Corpo bitch!"

"Get a job," she muttered under her breath as she strolled past security.

Someone fell into step with her, and she turned to see Merda Irons, the candidate Abigail passed on in favor of Allison. Merda was picked up for a cozy numbers job of similar pay, but she never seemed like she was over the sting of rejection when she spoke to Allison.

"They're getting bolder, huh?” Merda nodded toward the glass doors that muffled the homeless woman's continued insults. "Walking right up to the doors, now."

"Seems so," Allison nodded. "I'm not sure what we're paying security for if they're going to let us get harassed every day."

"Right?” Merda agreed.

Allison always had the sense that if she and Merda weren't bitter rivals, they might have been friends. But there was no room for friendship in the corporate world, because there was no room for trust.

"I hear Abigail's having a hard time,” Merda noted slyly. "That's a shame. My department is doing very well. We're hiring, actually. When Abigail gets fired, I can put in a good word for you. One look at you, and I bet they'll instantly take you on as the new receptionist."

"That's very sweet of you," Allison smiled, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the fourteenth floor. "But unlike most people, I don't like to settle."

Merda's snarl just barely managed to conceal itself as she jabbed the button for the tenth floor, and Allison preened, always glad to get the upper hand in their passive-aggressive exchanges.

She spent the next hour at her desk outside of Abigail's office. Abigail had yet to come in, but sometimes her headhunting involved late drinks. Allison got the headache pills ready just in case. She poured over her notes, hearing the pending meeting in her head, trying to think of every counter to her proposal so she could negate them with reason, statistics, even a flash of leg, if it came to it.

When her cell phone beeped ominously, she gathered her bag and files and took the elevator higher. On the twenty-ninth floor, she made her way to Conference Room B. She was shown in, but her stomach nearly fell to the floor when she saw the ten or so people sitting around the long table, the man she was supposed to meet sitting at the head.

The man. Singular.

He looked up as she entered and smiled, waving away his secretary.

"Miss Jones, welcome,” he greeted, friendly but brisk. "I apologize for the confusion. I had a meeting I couldn't get out of, but I was loathe to miss out on your proposal. You seemed quite insistent that I hear you out in your emails."

She smiled, already dissecting his words. He thought this interview would be a waste of his time, and he didn't want to lose a precious minute more than was necessary. On the other hand, such a public interview was unheard of. It was possible that he also wanted to see how she performed under pressure, in the off-chance her proposal was worth something.

"Please," he offered, gesturing her to the chair... on the opposite end of the table.

He was already distancing himself from her. His mind was half made up, then. Still, she walked to the seat of ‘honor’, sitting upon it as if it were her throne. He wasn't aware that she thrived under pressure, and that was in her favor.

He pressed his fingertips together as he leaned back in his chair, the lights overhead glinting in his graying hair. He nodded to her wordlessly, waiting for her to begin.

“Sir, our employment rate is higher than ever," she began without preamble, "but we seem to be running short on employees of a certain caliber. Those with vision, ambition, and, frankly, intellect. Leaders, like yourself."

"We already have leaders," he pointed out, gesturing at the well-dressed people between them.

"Yes," she agreed, "but I'm talking about future leaders. Grooming someone for a position over the course of years. People with backgrounds you can trust."

"We have headhunters for that," he reminded her, frowning as if he was starting to wonder why she was there. "Your boss, Abigail Eden, is one of the most successful we have."

"Miss Eden does tend to find a surprising number of people willing to work for Biotechnica," Allison admitted. "And perhaps one in ten actually remain employed long-term. And lately, that ratio has dropped, given the unrest in the city."

He nodded, his eyebrows creased. Good. She had his attention.

"I propose a new position be opened," she went on. "A headhunter that strictly recruits from corporate employees and their associates."

"Why…?” a woman to her left asked in confusion. “Isn't the whole point to find hidden talent?"

"I believe we have plenty of talent, right here within our walls," Allison stated. "Employees with skills that haven't been allowed to shine. Even their friends and family, someone they may know that could take this place to new heights, under your direction. Someone with education, a stable living environment, and a respect for authority that has already been bred in them."

Some of the suits in the room were nodding at her, others looking to the opposite end of the table.

"Have you posed this to Abigail?" her interviewer asked, watching her keenly.

"Miss Eden has always discouraged the stirring of the pot," Allison answered readily. "And for good reason. Her methods have always been efficient. But times are changing, and I believe we need to look inward for long-term solutions."

He tapped the table thoughtfully. “And who would you suggest we put in this new position?” he asked, seeming to expect her answer.

"I won 't mince words," she declared. “I was born and raised in this district. I have been gathering contacts since prep school. I know who to approach, who to avoid, and I won't have to worry about being shot every time I have an interview, costing the company thousands if not millions in insurance costs."

"Well," he snorted, smiling at his associates around the table. "You certainly know how to make an argument convincing."

The others chuckled, and Allison smiled.

"It's just reason and facts, sir."

He stood, gesturing for her to follow, and he walked her to the door.

"Come by my office tomorrow at one," he told her as the others began to talk among themselves. "We'll go over your terms and discuss details over lunch. But." He held up a finger of warning. "You'll be the one to tell Abigail that she's out an assistant, and why.”

"Of course, sir," she answered unflinchingly. “I already have a fitting replacement in mind.”

"Good to hear. Where is Abigail, anyway?" he asked with a frown. "Does she know you're here?"

"No, sir," she informed him. "I haven't seen her come in, yet."

"Have you called her?"

"She's instructed me not to call her before eleven, sir," Allison answered, "in case a meeting ran late."

"Well," he sighed, "the denizens of lower Night City do like their nightlife."

"One less thing to worry about with this new position, sir," she assured him.

"Right," he chuckled. "See you tomorrow, Miss Jones.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, shaking his hand firmly.

In the elevator, she found herself alone, and she took a moment to cover her mouth and release a muffled squeal. She hopped from foot to foot, dancing on the spot, her hands flapping excitedly.

When the doors opened, she was standing with her usual dignity, and she made her way back to desk with graceful strides. She glanced through the windows to Abigail's office, frowning when she saw it was still empty. Usually, her boss at least called by now. Perhaps Allison should call her, just to check in.

No, the last time she called before the designated time, Abigail yelled herself hoarse. Allison would wait, all the while counting the minutes until she was no longer under Abigail's shadow.

Eleven came and went, but just to be sure, Allison waited until noon to call her boss. There was no answer, and Allison wasn't certain if she should be concerned or not. She chose not to be, using her free time to map out her plan of action to present to her new boss the following day.

However, when Abigail didn't come in at all, Allison grew suspicious. Had Abigail learned of her meeting today? Perhaps she'd heard of Allison's intentions to be promoted behind her back. Was she angry? Pouting? Plotting revenge?

She realized with a wave of resignation that she should hash it out with her now, rather than have Abigail storm into the office in a temper and make a scene. She called Greg to let him know she'd be late coming home.

"Okay, sweetie," he told her over the phone. "Be careful!"

It was amazing to her how genuine he could sound, when she knew his affection was more habit than love or passion. They'd met through some of the higher-ups in the office, and their relationship was widely discussed when they began it, him being a few years older. Everyone expected a happy wedding and five kids from the pair in the coming years, and they weren't shy in saying so. It helped, too, that he had family on the same board as her interviewer, and that her old prep school friends managed his investments.

They were a match made in Heaven, if Heaven were a cold, clinical insurance office. Still, he kept the bed warm. Even if it was one day a week. The same day. Same time. Same routine.

Eager to think of anything else, she packed her bag at five o'clock, ready for the showdown with Abigail. She must be angry if she wasn't even calling to scream at her. The sooner they spoke, the better.

She asked her cab driver to take her by Abigail's apartment, tipping him to remain outside for her until she returned. Unfortunate, Abigail lived closer to the edge of the district, the slums of Night City just a stone's throw away. Allison tried not to catch the eye of the more numerous wanderers that lingered outside, watching her with hooded, calculating eyes. She managed to get inside without any exchanges like the unfortunate one that morning, and she took the elevator to Abigail's floor.

When she reached the door, she could hear Abigail moving inside, slamming things around in apparent anger. Sighing, Allison pressed the buzzer and waited. The noise inside stopped, and silence fell. She waited, but nothing happened. She knocked on the door deliberately.

"Miss Eden, it's Allison," she called. "I just wanted to check on you."

There was no reply. She knocked again.

"Miss Eden, let me in," she insisted loudly. "I'd like to know why you didn't come to work today."

Still no reply. She thought she heard shuffling on the other side of the door.

"We need to talk," she cajoled through the metal. "Let me in."

Again, silence. She sighed.

"Fine," she conceded. "I'll just ask the super intendant to let me in."

She turned away, then smirked as she heard the door open behind her. But before she could turn around, an arm wrapped around her middle as a hand clapped over her mouth, and she was yanked backward into the apartment.

The place was in disarray, furniture overturned and drawers emptied, their inane contents scattered across the floor. Three people stood among the rubble, none of whom she recognized. They wore mismatching clothes and makeshift armor, their faces mostly covered, and each carried a bag loaded with unknown goods, though Allison thought she saw Abigail's favorite golden necklace hanging from the opening of one.

The fourth intruder threw her to the floor among the discarded mess, and she landed heavily on her stomach, her bag flying from her arm. Gasping, she rolled over to see a gun pointed directly in her face, the barrel inches from the spot between her eyes.

She froze. Even living in Night City, she'd never had a gun pointed at her before.

"Hello, Allison," the man holding the gun sneered. "I'm afraid Miss Eden is unavailable. Would you like me to take a message?"

His face was obscured by thick, chrome glasses and a bandana tied over his mouth and nose. One of the others knelt next to him.

"What kinda 'ware's she rocking?" their feminine voice asked.

"Good question," the man agreed. "What you got installed, Miss Pencil skirt?"

Allison's blood ran cold, what hope she had of surviving this evaporating. Cyberware wasn't just something you wore like jewelry. It was imbedded in you, installed beneath skin and bone, wrapped around the organs or weaved into the brain. If these people were interested in her cyberware, that could only mean one thing.

"Scavs," she gasped.

The man sighed, shaking his head. "You know, I hate that name. We're not scavengers. If we're anything, we're hunters. Had to hunt down your little friend Abigail, didn't we?"

"And, oh, how she screamed," the woman next to him sneered as she stood, moving to help the others continue to ransack the apartment.

Allison began to shake, quiet sobs bubbling in her throat.

“You see, Abigail thought it would be wise to try and recruit one of us. A man we thought was with us to the end... But it seems he thought working for fucking Corpos was the better option. Now he's gone."

"Dibs on his ocular implant, by the way," one of the other men piped up. "That thing he can do to police scanners is gold."

"As for your friend Abigail," the man before her went on. "Corpos need to learn where not to stick their noses. And Miss Eden had a lot of valuable 'ware...”

Allison thought she might faint. She hoped for it. Merciful blackness would be better than what would surely happen next.

"So, Allison," he prompted her abruptly. "What kind of ‘ware do you have?"

She shook her head quickly. "Nothing special, I swear! Just a time-management mod, a schedule mod... Alarms and calendar reminders, that's it!"

"Yeah, right," he sneered. "Corpo bitch like you's probably got something fancy in there, right?"

“No! I don't—"

"We'll just have to take a look, ourselves," he shrugged, pulling a small device with a switch on the side from his pants pocket. "Now, this'll hurt—"

“Please—!”

“—a lot."

He pressed the button, and her head exploded in pain. The port behind her right ear and the wires that threaded into her felt as if they were on fire, glowing pinpoints of pain that had her writhing before all went dark.


	2. Scavs and Scabs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison wakes to find herself being kept on standby for cyberware harvesting, a Scav's favorite pastime. Alone and terrified, she has to think fast if she has any hope of freeing herself... or of dying on her own terms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These stories are meant purely for entertainment and/or dark fantasy fulfillment. They serve as a form of therapy for me and possibly others, so try not to judge their contents too harshly. In no way do I condone rape or non-consensual situations. No means no, people. Please read the Archive Warnings and Tags. Some of these chapters will touch on triggering subjects and scenarios.

Her eyelids fluttered, and the first thing she became aware of was sharp, unbearable cold. It pressed around her, her skin unprotected against it. A soft whimper escaped her as she shifted, forcing her eyes open. She was half-submerged in a bathtub full of iced water, violent shivers already beginning to wrack her as her body tried to fend off the cold. The bathroom she was in was old and run-down, clearly not in use. The door was closed, but she could hear voices coming from the other side.

She shifted, lifting her stiff arms out of the water, and she gasped as she brushed something… no… someone. Another person was in the tub with her, stripped naked, like herself. She leaned closer, realizing with horror that it was Abigail. And it was too late. Her eyes were open, her gaze fixed. Allison pressed her shaking fingers to the woman's neck, but she couldn't feel a pulse. She was gone.

The horror was trying to sink in deeper. Looking at Abigail, she saw her own fate. Her mind wanted to shut down, go back to sleep, die in the cold without waking. Perhaps Abigail was the lucky one.

But something else was rearing its head inside her, something besides fear. Born of a strong need to survive, it told her to stay calm, to think.

She couldn't, of course she couldn't, but neither could she lose her head. She thrived under pressure... right?

She heard someone approaching the door, and she quickly sank back into the freezing water, closing her eyes and turning away as the door opened. She fought to suppress her shivering as someone approached, not daring to reveal that she was awake, yet.

"Which one?" a man's gruff voice called loudly, so close she nearly jumped.

"The redhead," a voice in the next room called back. "Hurry up, I wanna be done before the show starts."

"'Hurry up’," the nearby man muttered.

Allison felt the water ripple as he reached into the tub, grabbing Abigail beneath her lifeless arms. He lifted her from the tub, and Allison slid further into the water, ice cubes rubbing against her neck as she tried not to convulse.

"I can't believe you watch that shit," he called as he hefted Abigail unceremoniously, carrying her from the room.

"Better than listening to you all day," the voice called back before the door closed, muffling them.

Allison sat up, trying not to splash as she scrambled out of the tub. She couldn't feel her hands and feet except for the severe, icy burn that set in as her blood fought to warm her. She pulled herself clumsily over the side of the tub and slid to the floor where she sat, breathing onto her fingers. At least the air wasn't that cold. Whatever central air system this place had didn't seem to be working, leaving the air warm and humid.

She glanced around the room, quickly trying to see if there was anything useful. A makeshift weapon, perhaps. But there wasn't much. She forced herself to her unsteady feet and began a more thorough search, moving jerkily. Error messages flashed across her eyes a few times as her implants struggled to right themselves after the shock she'd received.

She felt in the bottom of the tub for the drain plug, hoping to find a chain, but it was just a rag shoved into the pipe. There was a mirror fixed to the wall above the sink, but she didn't want to risk alerting anyone by breaking it. At least, not yet. There were pipes underneath the sink, but they were so old, the bolts on them were sealed with rust. There was nothing else. No curtain rod, no window, even the toilet seat was missing. She saw scratch marks on the floor, and she inched closer to them. Something was stuck to one of them. She lifted the small object and held it close, inspecting it in the dim light from overhead.

It was a fingernail, ripped from the bed.

She dropped it, recoiling. A sob bubbled in her throat, and she clapped her hands over her mouth, casting a terrified glance at the door. After a few moments of shallow breathing, tears slipping down her pale face, she lowered her hands again.

Think.

She was going to die. No one escaped Scavs.

Think, Allison.

Would anyone notice she was gone, apart from not showing up to do her work?

Damn it, Allison, think!

If only the lighting weren't so poor in here...

She glanced up. A plan began to form. A bad one, but all she had.

She went to the tub, stepping up onto the edge with her damp feet. She could just reach the light panel overhead. She removed the panel as quietly as she could, setting aside the thin sheet of Flexi-glass. Reaching around the dusty bulb, she gripped the wire that fed it power and carefully yanked it free of the light source. The light went out, leaving her in terrifying darkness. Her ears hyper-aware of every sound, she carefully pulled the wire, cautious of the live, exposed end. She lowered herself to the floor, pulling the wire towards the tub, but to her dismay, it stopped short. It had enough length to hang at shoulder height.

Not enough. Not enough.

She breathed in, breathed out.

It could still be useful.

She left the wire hanging, avoiding the tip, and she crouched by the tub. She reached into its icy depths and pulled the rag free with her left hand, keeping her right as dry as possible. As she expected, the water began to drain with a loud gargle. She heard a lull in the talking from the next room. She scurried blindly to where the door was, pressing herself flat against the wall and praying they didn't immediately spot her, the rag spread flat in her left palm.

The door slid open. Thankfully, the Scav's face was turned toward the tub, failing to notice her. He squinted in the dark.

"The fuck...?"

"She awake or something?" the man in the next room called.

She could see him through the doorway, the back of his head visible over the couch he occupied.

The man before her moved toward the tub. Allison waited a very brief moment as he peered into the tub with only the light from the doorway to help him see, then she sprang forward. Her left hand slapped the dripping cloth over the cybernetic port behind his ear, her right hand seizing the over- hanging wire. Making sure not to touch him as he began to turn in alarm, she brought the wire to the rag.

He yelled as electricity burned his skin, sparks flying from his eyes as they flashed red, his cybernetics malfunctioning. He jerked violently before falling over into the tub with a splash.

Allison could hear the other man scrambling to his feet, and she bent, lifting the Flexi-glass from the floor. She darted to the wall next to the door but didn't wait to see if he spotted her. The moment he stepped through the doorway, she swung with all the strength she could muster, feeling the glass connect with his face with a sickening crunch as his nose shattered against it.

Blood spurted to the floor as he stumbled back, clutching his nose and mouth, and she swung again, hitting him on the side of the head as she stepped after him. He cursed loudly, but he only seemed infuriated. As she pulled back to swing again, he kicked out, his boot catching her midriff and sending her crashing into the wall behind her.

She gasped, breathless, realizing too late the Flexi-glass had flown from her hands. She spotted it nearby, prepared to dive for it, but a very distinct click made her freeze.

He had a gun trained on her, glaring furiously as he pinched his ruined nose with his other hand.

"You're gonna regret that, Corpobitch," he spat, blood and spit dribbling down his chin.

Another door flew open, and three more Scavs rushed in, weapons drawn as they took in the scene.

"The fuck happened, Baker?" a woman asked, eyeing his face and the naked Allison on the floor. "You let this little girl get the best of you?"

"Bitch attacked me," he snapped, looking very much like he would love to pull the trigger. "She got Bin.”

One of the Scavs went into the bathroom. After a moment, he came out, shaking his head with mild amazement.

"He'll live," he reported, "but he's taking a nap. She got him good."

"Great," the woman snorted. "An unarmed, naked chick took out two of us."

"Hey, I ain't out," Baker objected, his speech garbled.

"Near enough," she sneered. She turned back to Allison, looking her over. "Never said she was a looker."

"Not for long," Baker promised, his fingers twitching on his gun.

"No," the woman told him, touching his shoulder. "Don't shoot her."

"Yeah, at least let us have some fun with her while she's still alive," another man jeered, grinning as Allison covered what she could with shaking hands.

"I'll be back," the woman announced, turning out of the room as she pulled out her phone. "No shooting or cutting her!”

Baker spat on the ground. "Fine. Plenty more ways to make her suffer. Boyd, you said you wanted to have some fun. Let's have some fun."

What air was in Allison's lungs left her as the three remaining Scavs stepped toward her. Fight her way out? What was she thinking? She should've used the wire to hang herself...

No. She dismissed the thought. She wasn't done. She'd do what she'd already decided. She'd make them have to kill her quickly.

Two of them grabbed her arms and yanked her to her feet as Baker stowed his gun, glowering at her as he wiped his bloodied mouth on his sleeve. She took a deep breath and let out a long, loud, vicious scream, and she began to fight as hard as she could, kicking and clawing and biting with the fury of a feral cat.

"Shut the fuck—ow!"

"Goddammit, hold her still—"

"Shit, she bit me—"

"Get her on the couch!"

"Motherf—"

"What in Satan's asshole is going on in here?!"

The men stopped, turning to see yet another Scav standing in the doorway, looking annoyed as he squinted at them. He was wearing a lab coat splattered in what looked suspiciously like blood. Allison was half-pinned to the couch, still managing to squirm from their grip.

"You don't have time for that," the new man chided them. "I need to be out of here in an hour. Get her on the table!"

"But—" Baker sputtered.

"Now!" the man snapped.

The three men sullenly pulled Allison to her feet once more, and they followed the other through the old, dilapidated building. She fought all the way, going limp in their arms, grabbing doorways, even managing to leave marks on a couple of her captors. But her workouts were for toning, not for strengthening, and a lifetime of tough living for the three men easily overpowered her.

She was dragged into the most disturbing room, yet. It was dark with only two bright lamps overhead, their beams focused on an operating table and a wheeled tray laden with surgical tools. There was fresh blood dripping from the table, pooling on the floor beneath. Each drip held a terrible promise for Allison as she stared. In the dark corner, there were two discarded bodies lying in a dark pool of what could only be more blood. One of them had a shock of red hair.

All her screaming couldn't save her as the wrestled her onto the table, strapping her arms and legs down and wrapping a metal harness around her head that kept her from moving it.

"Thank you, I can take it from here,” the man in the lab coat dismissed them.

"I wanna watch," Baker snarled, standing just on the edge of Allison's vision.

"Fine, fine," the man sighed as the others trudged out. “Just stay back."

Allison growled and whimpered, anger and fear battling for dominance as she struggled in vain against her restraints. This wasn't supposed to happen to her. She had so many things she wanted to do. Where was her money, her power, her mind-blowing sex and passionate kisses? Where was the damned future she was promised? Now she wouldn't even get to go out fighting. She'd just disappear, another missing person to add to the roster at the woefully inadequate NCPD. All at the hands of these sick savages.

Anger won out. She began throwing colorful curses at them, repeating insults she'd heard but never uttered. She struggled so hard that her restraints creaked, and the table threatened to tip over.

"This is why I prefer to put them to sleep before bringing them in here,” the older man sighed, brandishing a syringe.

Baker moved behind the table, lifting a nearby rag and clapping it over her snarling mouth. They leaned over her, the syringe at her neck.

"Stop!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake,” Baker snapped, turning to see the female Scav stroll in, her phone pressed to her ear. "What, now?”

"Found a better deal for her," the woman announced, nodding to Allison.

“No way,” Baker snorted. “Not with the Corp ware she's got tucked in there-"

“I'm telling you, this is a better deal," she insisted, pointing at her phone. "I guarantee you whatever she has won't be anywhere near as much."

"Why?" Baker asked suspiciously. "She someone important? Should we hold her for ransom?"

"No, you fucktard," she replied scathingly. "Just trust me. Money she'll fetch, you'll have enough to buy five more noses to break.”

Baker sighed, and her would-be surgeon set aside his syringe.

"Can I fuck her first?" Baker asked hopefully, ignoring Allison's loathsome glare.

“No," the woman answered firmly. "They want her ‘untouched’. And they want her now.”

"Fine," the man in the lab coat sighed. "Let's get her out of here, then.”

He reached for a different syringe, but the woman waved it away.

"I got it.”

Baker kept the rag over Allison's mouth as he walked around to the side of the table.

"Wherever you're going," he muttered to her, “I hope they break you into pieces.”

She answered him with a venomous glare, but before she could spit more curses into the cloth, a familiar pain ripped through her head. Blinding spots of agony and static blocked out the world before darkness claimed her again.

~~~

"…want the entire program installed. Leave nothing out."

"Sir, someone's bound to notice something like that."

“That's why we're sending her there. Everyone assumes those people are broken. Any unusual behavior will be seen as trauma glitches.”

"Clever, sir, but... the program hasn't been tested, yet. Not in its entirety. Not in a single person.”

“And what would you call this?"

“…a test, sir?"

“Indeed."

“She seems to be waking.”

"Blasted Scavs. Can't even properly render someone unconscious.”

"I'll put her under..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment and a kudos if I earned it! More chapters to come!


	3. The New You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroine finds herself in a very peculiar position. One where she doesn't recognize anyone or anything, perhaps not even herself. The question is, did she wake in a den full of friends or enemies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the Archive Warnings and Tags. Some of these chapters will touch on triggering subjects and scenarios. These stories are meant purely for entertainment and/or dark fantasy fulfillment. They serve as a form of therapy for me and possibly others, so try not to judge their contents too harshly. In no way do I condone rape or non-consensual situations. No means no, people. If you enjoy the story, leave a comment and a kudos!

= Programs initializing… =

Her eyes moved beneath her lids, her fingers twitching.

= Programs initialized. Welcome to Fruits of Passion. Currently unlicensed. =

Her eyelids fluttered open. She was staring at a white ceiling, her body lying on something firm but cushioned. She didn't feel sluggish or groggy, but she felt a strange detachment, bemused by her surroundings.

She sat up, gazing around the small examination room. It was clean and polished to a shine. The medical bed she lay on was next to a series of monitors showing varying reports of information. Looking down, she saw the port at the heel of her left hand was open, her port's cable feeding into the monitors. She realized they were displaying her heart rate, oxygen levels, and even her neural activity.

Why...?

A door slid open, and a woman walked in. She wore a clean, white doctor's coat and held a small tablet in her hands.

"You're awake," she observed brusquely, barely glancing at her as she squinted at her tablet. "I was starting to think you were a dud."

"A dud...?" she repeated blankly.

The woman snorted. "Maybe that’s the case, after all. Okay, your vitals look good. No negative side effects from the surgery—"

"Surgery...?"

"—and your new programs seem to be running just fine."

She set the tablet down and pulled a stool up to the bed, taking a seat on it.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Um..." She blinked.

Drudging up her name was oddly difficult. She couldn't seem to bring any memories quickly to mind. But the name did come to her, trickling like sap from a sieve.

"…Allison."

"Not anymore," the woman corrected. "You gave up that name when you came to us."

"I did...?"

"Yes, you did. You wanted a new life, and all that," the woman sighed. "Don't worry, it’s normal to be disoriented after such invasive cyberware installation. Let's catch you up."

She stood, gesturing for her to follow suit.

"I'm Dr. Wren. You'll get your new name from the boss." She fixed her with a hard stare. "Do you understand? You're not Allison, anymore.”

The nameless girl nodded.

"Good. Let’s get you acquainted with your new self.”

Dr. Wren pulled her in front of a full-length mirror, waiting as the girl gazed at herself with wide eyes.

They weren't eyes she knew. She seemed to remember hers were brown, complimenting her half-Japanese heritage. These stranger's eyes were pitch black, endless depths she feared she may fall into.

Dr. Wren unfastened the clasps on the shoulders of the loose-fitting hospital gown she wore, pulling it off so she stood completely naked. Her hair and skin had been primed and polished, shining with fresh hydration. Her nails and toenails had been painted a deep pink. She also seemed to be freshly shaved. Otherwise, she appeared to be unchanged. Except...

She stepped closer to the mirror, then squinted down at herself. Two thin, metallic lines ran along her chest just above her breasts, curving down the sides as they followed her own curves, and stopping just underneath each breast, framing them. Two more ran down her lower stomach on either side, barely visible, but glinting in the light. They curved towards each other the further down they went, then stopped just above her bald pubic area.

She bent further, bending her legs open as she peered between them. More cybernetic lines ran along her cleft, both around the outside and along the inside of her folds. Additional lines appeared to trail inside her. They were soft to the touch, as if they were made of her own flesh.

"You, my friend, have hit the cybernetic jackpot," Dr Wren told her wryly. "The boss had you fitted with top-shelf implants. Basically, you're now equipped with adjustable nerve enhancers. On the right settings, someone could blow on you, and you'd feel like you were in a windstorm. The lightest touches feel amazing, and heavy petting could have you in a drooling mess. For example..."

The doctor reached over and lightly brushed the side of her hip. She shivered, surprised by how potent a feeling it was.

"Use with caution,” the doctor warned. "Walking down the street could have you screaming in ecstasy. Not as funny as it sounds. You'll also notice your body hair is gone. It won't grow back. You're welcome."

She blinked at the doctor.

"The cybernetics also enhance what you feel inside of you. No more vague sensations. You'll feel every movement, every texture of everything that’s inside you. You'll also produce more lubrication more easily. And I know you can't see it, but those little lines run into your anal cavity, too."

The doctor paused, watching her, but she was having trouble thinking of what questions she should be asking. It all seemed like the dream one has where they simply accept everything they see and hear as fact. This was her body, now. This was where she... worked? Lived?

"Where am I?" she asked dreamily.

"Clouds," the doctor answered simply. "The high-end brothel of Night City. You are now one of our service girls.”

"I'm a prostitute?" she asked vaguely.

"Doll," Wren corrected. "You’re called Dolls. Yep, you signed all the contracts, and everything. You are now our newest recruit. Now, there's something else I need to show you, but I need someone else to help, okay?"

She nodded, reaching for the discarded gown.

"Actually, you don't need those,” the doctor stopped her, watching her keenly. "He's one of our Dolls, and you need to let him touch you. Is that okay?"

The girl nodded, accepting this, too. The doctor went to the door and waved in a handsome young man, all tanned skin and golden hair. He smiled at her as he approached, the doctor shutting the door again.

"Hello," he greeted her in a sweet, calming voice. "I’m Slick.”

"Hello," she greeted in turn. "I... don't have a name.”

"You will," he assured her. "We all get one."

"Okay," the doctor told her, standing nearby. "Just like we talked about, Slick.”

Slick nodded and guided the nameless woman so she was standing squarely in front of the mirror again. He stood in front of her, facing her, off to the side so she could see most of herself.

"Keep your eyes on yourself," he told her.

She nodded, gazing at herself in the mirror.

Slick ran his hand down the side of her arm. The contact felt nice, but she didn't understand what she was supposed to be looking for. Then his hand drifted from her wrist to her lower belly, then down to her nether region. She watched his fingers curl out of sight as he slipped them between her legs.

The effect was immediate. Her lips parted in surprise as warmth spread through her from his simple caress. He drew his fingers along her folds, smiling at her dreamily as she gazed at herself. Was it her imagination, or did something flicker in her reflected eyes? And it almost seemed as if the room was taking on a rosy glow.

He pushed one finger between her already moistening folds, easing inside and stroking her gently.

She gasped. She could feel him-really feel him. Every dip and fold of skin he brushed alighted with pleasure. She could feel every detail of him, down to the texture of his skin. And it felt so good...

"Look," he murmured, watching her.

She focused on the mirror again. She hadn't noticed, but her eyes were changing. The color was lightening into a deep pink that shimmered and shifted.

"They respond to your level of arousal," Dr. Wren informed her, her tablet back in her hand where she sat on the stool. “You can track your arousal with a self-scan, but the truly impressive thing is you can scan someone else to track their level of arousal, as well. Makes pleasing your clients a damn sight easier."

She was trying to concentrate on what the doctor was saying, but Slick slid a second finger inside her, and she put a hand on his shoulder for support.

"You should know that reaching an orgasm can be very intense,” the doctor was saying. “Your optics—"

Slick leaned in close, whispering in the nameless girl’s ear, "Look what I can do."

He smiled with boyish mischief, and suddenly, the pads of his fingers were vibrating. She gasped again, feeling the vibrations echo through her as he pressed his teasing digits into her. Her irises were all light pink, now—no hint of black left. The rosy glow overtook the room as the colors and lights in her vision grew more vivid, more alive.

"Thank you, Slick,” the doctor stated pointedly. "You can go."

But Slick dug his fingers in deeper, his thumb beginning to move in slow, vibrating circles over her clitoris. A soft moan escaped her, and as she watched, her irises began to change shape. In seconds, two pink, heart-shaped eyes gazed back at her hungrily.

"That’s enough,” Dr. Wren sighed.

Slick trailed the fingers of his free hand down her back, smiling at the doctor as he continued his probing.

"But just look how pretty she is," he cajoled, indicating the silver cybernetic lines in her skin. They had begun to faintly glow in an array of colors. "Don't ruin our fun..."

The girl grasped his other shoulder as her knees began to weaken.

"Slick," the doctor warned him.

He sighed, and the vibrations stopped as he pulled his fingers from her, leaving her empty and panting.

"Later, hopefully," he told her with a smile. He lifted his sopping fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "Mmmh,” he moaned lightly. “Sweet. Like candy.”

"Another one of the features,” the doctor put in, tapping away on her tablet.

"Fancy," he lauded, grinning at the girl. "Welcome to Clouds.”

With that, he strolled from the room.

"Don't worry," the doctor told her as she watched her eyes shift back to their round shape, the glow in her cybernetics dimming. "He's in his Doll state. He won't remember what just happened.”

"Doll state?" she asked, watching her eyes slowly darken.

"The state you'll go in when you meet a client. Our house program, which you're already installed with, makes it so that you don't remember your encounters. It's just better that way, trust me.”

"Okay," the girl replied despondently.

"Here, put these on." The doctor handed her what barely constituted as an outfit. It was a backless, metallic silver mini dress that left little to the imagination, stopping short enough that bending over would be indecent. It came with a matching thong and very high-heeled shoes.

"We'll go over your settings, do some calibrations, and you’ll be all set."

An hour later, her head swimming with new information, she at least knew the basics of some of the programs she'd been installed with, most of which were sexual in nature, while others were centered on personal hygiene. Though, there was one program full of time management and scheduling features that she got the hang of almost immediately.

When the doctor's phone rang, she huffed before answering it, a blue light shining in her eyes.

"Yeah, Boss Man?" she asked, not bothering to hide her irritation at being interrupted.

The other side of the conversation couldn't be seen or heard, but whatever was being said was only frustrating her more.

“I'm in the middle of it now," she grouched. "Can I at least finish, first? ...Yeah, we've gone over the basics, but... Didn't she already do that? ...What 'other contracts’? ...I can't care for these people if you won't tell me everything... No, I... I know that, but I think she needs more recovery time... Yes, sir. Fine.”

Her eyes flickered back to brown, and she turned to the nameless girl, looking grim.

“The boss wants to see you. He's got some contracts for you to sign. I guess.”

She stared at the doctor quizzically as her eyes flashed blue again.

"Slick. Come back to exam room." Her eyes flickered brown once more. "We'll walk through more tomorrow, if you're up for it," she told the girl. “Just..."

She paused, looking as though she wished to say something specific. Eventually, she simply sighed and shrugged. "He likes to be called 'Sir'."

Before she could respond, the door opened and Slick strolled back in.

"Take her to see the boss,” Dr Wren dismissed them, turning back to her tablet.

“This way, Sweet Girl," Slick beckoned, leading the way out into the hallway.

She followed, staring around in mild interest. There wasn't much to see. If this was a brothel, they were in the business part of the building. The decor was simple but nice, with plush carpet and decorative paintings. Slick pointed out different rooms as they passed: bathrooms, changing rooms, staff offices, storage for toys and furniture, a massage room, snack room… Everything one could think of to help the dolls recover, relax, and prepare for their next client.

An off-shoot hallway finally led to the designated office. A plaque on the door read 'Mr. Keen'. Slick knocked, and a man's voice called from inside.

"Come in."


	4. The Boss Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the new boss doesn't go quite how our beautiful blank canvas imagined. But what should have been a traumatizing experience turns out to have an unimaginable impact. This chapter contains an explicit sex scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the Archive Warnings and Tags. Some of these chapters will touch on triggering subjects and scenarios. These stories are meant purely for entertainment and/or dark fantasy fulfillment. They serve as a form of therapy for me and possibly others, so try not to judge their contents too harshly. In no way do I condone rape or non-consensual situations. No means no, people. If you enjoy the story, leave a comment and a kudos!

She followed Slick into a lavish office with a bold desk in the center. The man sitting at it was fairly handsome, though not in the way Slick was. He had a hard look to him and a commanding presence. He was focused on his computer's screen and didn't look up when they entered, even when they stopped in front of his desk.

"New girl's here to see you, Sir,” Slick informed him.

"Thank you," the man replied dismissively.

Slick took the cue and left, giving her one last warm smile before closing the door behind him.

"Sit," the man ordered curtly, still without looking up.

She took a seat in the only chair available, an uncomfortable metal seat that contrasted with the lively decor of the room and the comfort of the chair across from it.

He raised a small remote control and pointed it at a video camera on a tripod stand nearby. A red light on the top of the camera blinked at them.

"You're aware that I'm recording you?" he asked, finally looking at her, his eyebrows furrowed over his stern, business-like stare.

"Yes," she replied simply, gazing at this new face in her life.

"This is to prove that all the proper documents have been signed," he said out loud, though he didn't seem to be particularly addressing her, and he slid a manila folder full of papers across the desk. "You will sign them here, in front of me, on record, and of your own volition. And let it be known that you are under no duress or obligation to do so."

She nodded, lifting the pen he pushed to her and opening the folder. She went through each page under his direction, signing and initialing the name she pulled from her muddled memory where he said to. There were contracts, NDA's, waivers, and more, none of which she bothered to read. She noticed that her signature was more like a scrawl compared to his, as if she’d forgotten how to write it. When they finished, he took the folder from her and held out his hand.

"You are now an official employee of Clouds.”

"Thank you, Sir," she replied quietly, giving his hand a small shake.

He turned off the camera and folded his hands on the desk.

"I don't sell merchandise I haven't tested first," he told her matter-of-factly. "So, I'm going to fuck you.”

She gazed back at him, waiting for further instructions.

"Nothing to say?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "No shock, no crying, no cursing? No over-eager attempts to please me?"

"Would you like me to, Sir?” she asked innocently.

His eyes darkened.

“They told me you'd be like this,” he shared thoughtfully. "Like a blank slate. I didn't believe it. I thought there'd be... something of who you were in there. But it looks like they were right..."

He waited again, but she remained silent.

“Let's see if you’ll be as perfect as they say,” he decided, getting to his feet and pushing his chair back. “Stand up. Come over here.”

She obliged, coming around the desk to stand before him as he got to his feet. He put his hands on her shoulders and had her stand with her back to the desk. He gazed at her for a moment, looking her over as he assessed what he saw. He put his hand to her chin and skimmed his thumb over her smooth lips.

"Open your mouth," he dictated.

She opened her mouth wide.

“Tongue out."

She stuck her tongue out. He ran his thumb down the length of her tongue, then he slid his index and middle fingers into her mouth, plunging them to the back of her throat. She braced, expecting to gag, but nothing happened. His hand filled her mouth as his fingers dug in further, the tips exploring and rubbing the area. Her eyes watered, but no gag was forthcoming.

With a low grunt that may have been approval, he withdrew his hand, wiping it on his business suit's jacket. He then brought his hands to her breasts and pressed his fingers to either side of both nipples, pushing in so the small nubs strained against the shining fabric. Even through the cloth, they visibly hardened at his touch.

He moved on with the efficiency of someone inspecting a newly-purchased cow, his brow furrowed in an otherwise impassive face. He watched her expression as he brought a hand up between her legs, his fingers finding her apex and pressing hard against her over her thong. Her lips parted slightly, but otherwise, she gazed up at him, waiting.

Seeming determined to get a rise out of her, he plunged his hand into her underwear and roughly shoved two digits into her. She gasped, her eyes blinking as the faint, rosy hue returned, coloring the room. He dug firmly into her, watching her, but all he witnessed was the slight change in the color of her eyes.

He pulled his hand from her and touched her lips with his damp fingers.

"Suck."

She opened her mouth and drew them in, sucking as she licked them clean. He pulled them out and nodded.

"Good,” he praised her mildly.

Then he lashed out, his palm connecting with her cheek. It wasn't hard enough to knock her over, but she stumbled in surprise. He watched closely as she straightened again, her hand on her stinging cheek.

She gazed up at him with wide eyes that were black once more. Had she done something wrong...?

He nodded to himself, eyebrows raised momentarily. Then he pushed her hand away and took her face in his hands, surprisingly gentle.

"Do you know why I did those things to you?" he asked her clearly.

She shook her head slightly, tears welling in her eyes. Her cheek was smarting, and she was at a complete loss.

"I did those things because I can,” he explained as though to a child. "It's important you understand how this works. But you're not in trouble."

"I'm not?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"No," he assured her with an air of condescension. "I just need you to know what it’s like to be punished if you do something bad. But you're not going to do something bad, now, are you?"

She shook her head quickly.

"Good," he murmured, his thumbs rubbing her cheeks. "Because I also give rewards, but only to good girls. Are you going to be a good girl for me?"

"Yes, Sir," she nodded meekly. She wasn't sure what situation she was facing, but the promise of a reward gave her hope.

"Good," he said again, releasing her. “I don’t have a lot of time, so I need to make this quick. I have a meeting.”

He walked to the camera, lifted the tripod, and carried it closer to them, angling it carefully as he positioned it. He turned it on, flipping the viewing screen so it faced them, then he moved to stand before her again, his cold eyes staring down at her.

"I'm going to fuck you," he told her evenly. "Right now. And I’m going to record it. Every sound, every move you make will be captured. And if you ever breach your contract or violate my trust, I'll make sure this gets out. Do you understand why that would be bad?"

She shook her head.

“Because I don’t want people to see you doing all those nasty things,” he elaborated, her innocent response triggering his patronizing tone. “Not unless they want to pay for it. But even so, even when those pathetic fucks pay for the pleasure of having you, what we do in here is private. I don’t want to share you with anyone in here. In here, you’re mine. So, it would upset me for someone else to see it. Get it?”

She nodded, and he looked satisfied.

“We’ll figure out a name for you as we go," he promised her as he gently rubbed her pink cheek. "Now, unzip my pants and put your hands on my cock."

She stepped forward, heedless of the camera he had trained on her. She unbuckled his shiny, leather belt and unfastened his trousers. As she unzipped him, she remembered the programs she’d just been introduced to, and she activated the Arousal Tracker.

= Subject: Brock Keen - Registered. Arousal: 15% =

She slipped her hands beneath his shirt and down his boxers, closing her fingers around his soft member.

= Subject Arousal: 18% =

"Now rub me," he told her briskly.

She ran her hands along his length, working then in tandem to bring it to life.

= Subject Arousal: 23% =

“Just like that," he nodded. "Good girl.”

He began to harden in her hands, lengthening as it filled. She didn't have a memory to compare it to now, but she had the impression that he was quite gifted with size. Judging by the knowing gleam in his eyes as he looked into hers, he was well aware of it.

"That's going to be inside you soon," he told her. "That's the prize you get for being good. And you're being very good."

She smiled slightly, looking down to where her hands were working.

= Target Arousal: 31% =

He suddenly grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her head back so she looked up at him, wincing.

"I just paid you a compliment," he said with a scowl. "What do you say?"

"Thank you, Sir!" she squeaked.

"Did I say to stop rubbing me?"

"No, Sir!" She hastily resumed her stroking.

"Better," he grunted, his hand releasing her hair and cupping the back of her head over her throbbing roots. "We can't forget our manners, can we?"

"No, Sir," she answered, feeling him harden further.

"Kiss me," he ordered.

She tilted her face up, pressing her lips to his. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and she opened for him, tasting cigar as he lapped at her greedily. Breaking the kiss, he ran a finger down her nose.

"On your knees, now.”

Pulling her hands from him, she lowered herself to her knees as gracefully as her heels would allow, gazing up at him expectantly. He shifted his pants, freeing his erection. Her eyes widened at the sight. If she thought it just felt big...

"Staring's rude," he smirked. "Put that mouth to use."

She moved forward, taking his shaft in her hand. She parted her lips and gave the tip a light lick. Feeling him twitch in her grasp, she drew him into her mouth, sucking lightly as her tongue lapped at the underside. He throbbed in her hand and she pulled him in further, clamping her lips around him and drawing on him harder, pulling back and forth slightly as she worked. One of her programs helpfully provided a subliminal insight, and each time she drew back, she flicked the underside of his tip with her tongue, making him give a light grunt of appreciation.

"Look at you go," he muttered, his hand petting the side of her head. "You are a good girl.”

He moved his hand to the back of her head and pushed her forward, forcing her mouth to widen as he inched his way in.

"Ohhh, yeah," he grunted slowly.

She felt him nudge the back of her throat, and she reflexively swallowed, her eyes beginning to tear. His hand swept her hair from her face and pulled it behind her head where he grasped it firmly. He pulled so she was forced to pull back, then pushed her onto him, setting a brisk pace as he fucked her mouth, his hips bucking forward ever so slightly. Her hands went to his hips, steadying herself as she choked on him, no longer able to control her attentions. Tears pooled in her eyes as wet, choking sounds filled the room.

= Target Arousal: 5I% =

He gave her one last, hard push, and she felt his tip dip just down her throat. He held her there, groaning as he relished the feeling of her lips around his base. The tears in her eyes broke free, slipping down her cheeks. He turned slightly so the camera could get a clear shot, taking his time as he captured every detail—the stretched lips, puffed cheeks, and widened throat all wrapped snugly around his pulsing rod.

"Just look at you," he groaned, pleased. "Now, now, don't squirm. Just breathe through your nose. That's it. Let's make sure we remember our manners when we talk to Sir, okay?"

She jerked her head slightly, and he accepted it for a nod. He pulled himself from her, and she gasped, coughing as his hand cupped her chin. He rubbed her moist lips and the shining tear tracks.

“Just lovely," he murmured. "Would you like your prize, now, for being so good?”

"Yes, Sir," she rasped, licking her lips as she caught her breath.

“Of course you do. Stand up.”

She got to her feet, her knees pink from the hard floor.

"Take your panties off."

She brought her hands beneath her dress and hooked her thumbs into the thin straps at her hips, bending as she slid the scant covering down her legs. She stepped out of them and straightened, his eyes and the red light of the camera watching her every move. He held out his hand for her panties, and she handed them over.

He raised his eyebrows, feeling the damp fabric. "Someone is eager. Open your mouth."

She did so without hesitation, and he stuffed them into her mouth, then put a finger over her lips.

"Can't have you being too loud," he told her. "We don't want to make the others jealous, do we? No. Here.”

He lifted the front hem of her dress, gathering the fabric together as he raised it higher. Over her stomach, over her chest. Reaching her neckline, he pulled the fabric into a bundle and brought it to her lips. She opened for him, and he pushed it in like a gag. She clamped it with her teeth, the thong pushed deeper into her mouth. The rest of her dress hung down her sides and draped around her upper back.

Mr. Keen stood back to look at his handiwork, his eyes moving over her appraisingly.

"You have a tight little body, you know that? How old are you?"

She thought for a moment, her muddled memories slow to surface. When it came to her, she realized she couldn't speak, so she held up her fingers, one, then eight.

"Eighteen?" he asked, surprised. "That makes you our youngest Doll. I bet your body is barely used, at all…"

He slid his hands up her bare sides then to her breasts. He squeezed them so the nipples pouted out between his thumb and forefinger.

"These are tiny,” he noted thoughtfully.

She gazed up at him, wondering if that was a punishable offense. He saw the worry line between her eyebrows and smiled reassuringly.

"They don't displease me, necessarily,” he admitted. "They're wonderfully perky. Let's just see how much bounce they have in them.”

He took another moment, his eyes panning over here mostly naked form, gagged and willing, her eyes just a shade above black.

"Put your hands on the desk and lean back against it. Now spread your feet. Little wider. Good."

She shivered as the cool air of the office chilled the moisture covering her apex. Her nipples were taut, both from being exposed to the cool and to the heat from his eyes. He stared at her as he removed his jacket and shirt, showing the coarse hair on his chest and stomach. He was a solidly built man, and her eyes moved over him in curiosity. He was fully erect, now, and he grasped himself as he stepped close to her. 

= Target Arousal: 59% =

He brought his tip to her cleft and began to rub it back and forth, moistening his tip.

"Do you want your reward, now?” he asked.

She nodded, her eyes wide.

"The camera can't hear you," he hinted. "Do you want Sir's cock inside you or not?"

"Mmh-hmm,” she mumbled through the cloth, nodding vigorously. The feel of him stroking her was tantalizing, and she found she wanted more.

He guided himself between her lower lips and pushed slowly into her. Her eyelids fluttered as she stretched around him, and she was struck by how much she could feel. The dip of his head at the base of its crown. The velvet texture of his shaft. The shape of his veins, and how they pulsed with life against her.

"Oh, god, that's tight," he groaned, sliding in further before pulling out slightly. "You're gripping me so hard.”

She sighed as he squeezed into her, her rim clinging to him as he slowly withdrew.

"But this is the real scene-stealer," he continued, tapping her face unceremoniously. "Show my camera how much you like it.”

She dragged her half-closed eyes to the camera's lens, semi-lost in the feel of him pervading her.

“You love it, don’t you?” he goaded against her cheek, his hips rolling into her. “You want all of it?”

"Mmh-hmm," she confirmed, wondering how much better this could feel.

He grabbed her chin, forcing her took face him again.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you?" he cajoled, nipping her bottom lip.

"Mmh-hmm," she moaned again, the room turning vibrant and rosy.

He cupped the back of her neck, his left arm encircling her waist. Holding her tightly, he thrust up into her hard, eliciting a muffled squeal from her.

She closed her eyes as he began to shove into her eagerly, her body warming as it came to life in his arms. Her hands left the desk, drifting up to his arms as she clutched his biceps. He stilled inside her, his breath hot on her ear.

"Hands back on the desk," he ordered gruffly.

She hurriedly gripped the desk again.

"Did I say you could move?" he asked her sternly.

She shook her head, her pink eyes wide.

"No, I didn't," he agreed.

He withdrew from her again, and he reared his arm back. She winced, but the stinging slap landed on the side of her left breast. She yelped into the cloth but remained still.

"You do nothing without my permission, understand?"

He slapped the side of her right breast. She whimpered and nodded.

"Never again.” He slapped the top of one breast. "Never.” He slapped the other. 

She breathed shakily into the fabric in her mouth, giving intermittent squeaks as he rained more slaps over her breasts, making her flesh burn and her nipples tighten into two pinpoints of pain.

After a few moments, he stopped, breathing deeply as he gazed at her. He grabbed her waist, turning her to the camera to properly capture the pink blush blossoming over her small swells. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to overflow as she looked up at him contritely.

"This is what happens when you're bad," he murmured, his eyes roving over her sorry state. "Does it hurt?”

She nodded meekly.

"So, you know not to do it again?”

She nodded faster.

"Do you want to try again?"

She nodded a third time, her eyes lighting up. It had felt so good…

He gave her his first small smile.

"Sit on the edge of my desk.”

She quickly pushed herself up onto the desk, the metal top cold against her bare cheeks.

"Lean back on your elbows. No, leave the keyboard. This isn't for your comfort. This is just to make me happy. You want that, right?"

She nodded mutely. If it meant not being hit, she wanted him very happy. And he looked happy, gazing down at her leaning back on his desk, his keyboard pressing into her lower back, the screen next to her flickering as random commands were entered. He looked ready to devour her, and she only wished to satisfy him.

That was her purpose, after all.

He pushed her knees apart and moved between them, his hands sliding up her slender thighs before grasping himself again.

"Don't move," he warned her as he slid his tip along her thigh to her cleft. "And don't make a sound. Keep your eyes open and on me. I want you to watch me fuck you.”

He slid into her, and she had to fight against her fluttering eyelids. He stopped halfway in, giving a few shallow thrusts as she squeezed against him. Then he gripped her hips and threw himself into her, jarring her so hard that the desk shuddered, and something behind her rattled to the floor. She bit into her gag as he speared into her depths, deeper than before. Her eyes nearly closed before she remembered to keep them on him, and she fixed him with her wide-eyed gaze as he began to fuck her hard, her eyebrows arching with a mixture of discomfort and intense pleasure.

She fought to keep silent as she watched him rock against her, his length rubbing her insides as his tip knocked at her innermost wall. She could feel his velvety head squishing against her in a wet kiss with every thrust. His pelvis smacked against her, pushing her thighs open so her dangling heels bounced above the floor. Warmth blossomed in her belly once again as her irises shifted into light hearts, shimmering for him and his camera.

“You really do like this, don't you?" he rasped, marveling at the genuine pleasure she and her eyes displayed. “You like it when Sir fucks you hard like this.”

She nodded, her breath starting to grow shallow.

"What a good girl... Lie back. All the way back. Hands over your head, hold on to the edge of the desk. Just like that. I want to see these little tits bounce."

Her back arched over the keyboard, she gripped the desk, her eyes never leaving him as she watched him fixate on her torso, resuming his rhythmic pounding. Her fleshy mounds gave a tight jiggle with each impact, and he picked up his pace to set them dancing.

"Fucking perfect," he nearly growled, gripping her waist with bruising force. "I never should’ve doubted them. Just look at how fucking sweet that is, princess.”

She bit down hard on her gag, panting with exertion as he claimed her.

= Target Arousal: 87% =

His eyes drank in the site of her jolting over his desk, her face flushed and gagged, her skin dewy beneath the overhead lights.

“There, that’s the name for you. You’re going to be my little Princess from now on.”

He hooked his elbows beneath her knees and pulled her thighs up, gripping them as he slammed into her. Eager moisture dripped down both of them, following her cheeks to the desk, slipping down his shaft and beneath so his sack hit her with a wet slap, rhythmic and enticing.

She tensed as her core tightened. It was an exquisite feeling, better than she could have imagined. Every inch of his erection alive inside here, bringing her to life. She felt a wave of gratitude crash through her as she gazed at him through half-lidded eyes. Anything he did to her was worth it for this.

He was beyond words, now, his voice rising in incoherent grunts as she clenched around him. He leaned forward, grinding down into her with frenzied hunger, her legs pressed even wider. The angle gave her the friction that sent her over the edge, and she silently convulsed, her fingers gripping the desk as she squeezed him, her legs shaking. Her eyes shined and flickered, the hearts fracturing like her body seemed to be. Her vision exploded in color and light. He groaned loud and long, pushing into her as he fell with her, losing himself in her.

She felt everything. His erection grew rigid as he came, hot cum spurting inside her, pouring into every crevice and filling the chamber beyond, leaking down along his sides as he pushed it further and further into her, both solid and liquid fighting to take up the tight space. With one last push, his crown pressed to her cervix, ejecting the last of his pleasure deep into her as he gave a shuddering sigh.

“Fuck,” he breathed, catching his breath as he leaned on her.

Her chest heaved beneath him, her eyes flickering as the hearts slowly turned back into round, pink irises that gazed up at him hazily.

He straightened, pushing off the desk as he pulled himself gently from her depths, letting her legs dangle lifelessly over the edge. He walked to the camera, pulling it off the tripod and carrying it over to her. He zoomed in on her sopping cleft, showing the thick, pearly trickle emerging from within. He slid two fingers up along it, capturing the liquids lingering there, and he held them up in front of her, the camera getting a clear shot of her ruined body.

“See?” he indicated his fingers. “Only good girls get this.”

He reached up, pulling the dress and panties from her mouth. He slipped his fingers into her mouth, and she sucked them clean, tasting herself and his salty cream on her tongue. He pulled free of her and cupped the back of her head, lifting it so she was looking directly into the camera.

“What do you say?” he prompted.

“Thank you, Sir,” she murmured to the red light and the watchful eyes behind it.

He smiled, releasing her, and slid his hand down her body, giving her belly a light pat.

“You’re welcome, Princess.”


	5. Rumors and Legends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following her "interview", newly-dubbed Princess meets some of her coworkers and gets a juicy dose of gossip. But which are facts, and which are just rumors?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the Archive Warnings and Tags. Some of these chapters will touch on triggering subjects and scenarios. These stories are meant purely for entertainment and/or dark fantasy fulfillment. They serve as a form of therapy for me and possibly others, so try not to judge their contents too harshly. In no way do I condone rape or non-consensual situations. No means no, people. If you enjoy the story, leave a comment and a kudos!

The girl with no memory, now dubbed ‘Princess’, was surprised at how quickly Sir could return to his business-like demeanor. In moments, they were sitting across from each other again, the disheveled desk and its dripping side the only evidence that anything elicit had happened. She gazed at her new boss with black eyes as he straightened his jacket.

"The others will fill you in on house rules," he told her curtly. "My own rules for you are simple. Everything in this building is my property. That includes you, and your cybernetic makeover. There is a GPS embedded in you, so I know when you leave and where you go. You are not to leave without my express permission. Understand?"

Princess nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"You are to report any suspicious behavior to me, no matter who is involved. If anyone is breaking rules or saying things I wouldn't like, I want to know about it. You are my eyes and ears out there, and you will tell no one that is the case."

"Yes, Sir."

“If you please me, I'll reward you. If you displease me, I’ll punish you. I say, "spread your legs", you say, "how wide?" Any questions?"

"No, Sir…”

"Good. Have Zed show you where you’re staying."

He waved her off as he lifted the phone on his desk. As she walked to the door, his voice carried after her.

"Eric. I need a mess cleaned in my office while I’m at lunch. And have the IT guy come take a look at my computer. It's doing something weird again."

She stepped out into the hallway, the door closing behind her. She was surprised to see someone already leaning against the wall opposite the door.

She was tall, several centimeters taller than Princess, even though the latter was in high heels. Her wild, brown hair hung in unkempt ropes half-piled on her head, the rest falling past her broad shoulders. She was muscular, her cut arms bulging as they crossed over her chest. She wore a tank-top that not only showed off her muscles, but her ample bosom, as well. Loose-fitting cargo pants and combat boots completed the look, as did the mean-looking handgun holstered at her hip. Her features were beautiful and hard, even in the scowl she currently wore. Arched eyebrows hovered over cold, hazel eyes, her tanned skin kissed by metal piercings at her eyebrow, the side of her nose, and along both ears. Cybernetic lines of silver ran from her hairline to the corners of her eyes, down the sides of her neck, and covered her knuckles in hard, silver caps. She looked built to do damage.

“’Bout time,” she sneered in a surprisingly sultry voice. "What'd you do, suck his soul out through his dick?"

Unsure of how to answer, she simply stared up at the Amazon before her.

"What, can't speak?" the woman pressed, giving her a hard stare.

"I can speak," she answered softly.

"Great," the woman scoffed. "Another mouse. So demure. What name did he give you?"

"Princess."

“Princess?! Jesus Christ, he's getting worse every time! What was your name before you came here?"

She hesitated. "I'm... only supposed to answer to ‘Princess'…”

"Well, aren't you obedient?” the woman snorted. "Look, that's what they do in this place. They try to make you forget who you were so that they have all your loyalty. But in your rush to crawl onto his desk again, try not to forget who you are. Okay?"

Princess simply blinked up at her. "This is who I am, now."

"Right… whatever. I'm Zed. I'm head of security. Basically, anyone gets rough with you beyond the parameters we set, I take them outside. On the flip, if you go breaking rules, I take you outside. You really don't want to be taken outside by me. But you look like you're gonna be Keen's favorite in no time, so... Come on.”

She followed Zed through the building. But where Slick had merely shown her the rooms, Zed stopped to explain the rules of each one. No food outside of the break room. Don't share beauty products. Take a shower before and after your shift. But, above all else, don't ask questions.

"Not if you want to last long," Zed muttered. "Oh, and the shells in the bathroom? Don't flip them around. Only monsters do that."

Each new rule was added to a checklist in Princess' organization program. She was finding it increasingly handy.

Eventually, they came to a new door, and Zed stopped outside it.

"This is where you'll sleep. Doc says you didn't come with any clothes or anything, either...?"

Princess shook her head.

"Jeez. Here."

She pulled the jack-in cord from her wrist and inserted it into the port behind Princess' ear.

= Downloading Security Access =

"That will get you access to the clothing storage and the supply closet. Take only what you need, and don't get anything for anyone else. They do inventory often, so be sparing. As for this room, the Dolls take naps in between, sometimes. Try not to wake the others.”

She pulled the plug, allowing the thin cord to zip back into her wrist.

“Any questions?"

Princess shook her head.

"Well, I hope you have more personality when you see your clients,” Zed snorted. "Find me if you need anything. Or, you know, find someone else.”

With that, Zed turned on her heel and retreated down the hallway. Princess watched her go, observing the confident swagger she held, then let herself quietly into the sleeping quarters.

The lighting was soft, even with every bedside lamp on. The walls had soundproof padding that muffled any noise that might try to seep in. Each of the small beds around the walls of the room had its own bedside table with built-in drawers, a thin path leading between them to the small half-bath in the back. The occupants of the room, three women and one man, were huddled in conversation, each seated on the foot of a bed. They stopped speaking as soon as she entered, four sets of eyes fixating on her with interest.

She recognized Slick, but she saw no recognition in return. He was gazing at her with as much new interest as the others, and he lacked the easy smile and natural confidence he'd had earlier. One of the girls smiled waved for her to join them.

"You must be the new girl," she greeted, patting the empty bed next to hers. "I'm Candace.”

Candace had a broad smile and light purple hair that framed her heart-shaped face. Princess sat on the bed next to her, eyeing her with mild interest.

"It's not Candace, actually," Slick corrected, casting his coworker a mock-chiding glare. "It's Candy. And I'm Slick.”

"Whatever," Candy snorted, rolling her eyes. "He can't make me stop using my name in my own time." She glanced at the newcomer. "What name did he give you?”

“Princess," she answered, glad to have an name to answer with, this time.

"Princess?!" Candy scoffed. "Oh my god, is he trying to make sure everyone knows he's a perv?!"

Princess blinked, taken aback.

"Don't be mean, Candy," Slick scolded, glancing at the new girl's expression.

"I'm not," she insisted. "But come on, 'Princess’?! How much worse can he get?" She turned to Princess. "Did he make you call him Daddy while he was at it?"

Princess shook her head. "No, just ‘Sir’."

"Only one person was ever allowed to call him that,” Slick reminded everyone present. “And sorry, but none of us are Shani."

"Who's Shani?" Princess asked curiously.

"She's a legend in these halls," Slick informed her. "She could suck the chrome off a pipe and bring anyone to their knees."

"Back in the days when Dolls could use their own names," the other girl murmured dreamily, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around her finger.

"She's why we can't use our own names, anymore," Candy sneered.

“Technically, the boss is why we can't use our own names, anymore,” Slick countered.

"New girl's lost," the blonde girl pointed out, drawing attention to Princess’ blank stare. "I'm Kitty, by the way."

“Right, new girl.” Slick turned to Princess. "So, we Dolls used to pick our own names, and we even had some say over our clients. But then Shani came."

"Beautiful, perfect Shani," Candy scathed.

"It was hard to hate her, even for Candy," Slick sighed. "She was a sweetheart. She really looked out for all of us.”

"But you wanted to hate her...?" Princess asked, trying to understand.

"She was the most-requested Doll at the time,” Candy explained with a sour frown. “Everyone requested her. Meaning the rest of us took whatever scraps we could get."

“The problem was, Mr. Keen liked her, too," Slick put in conspiratorially. “A little too much. He's not supposed to, you know... use us like that..."

"But we all know about his little initiation videos," Candy shrugged. "He makes us do it without going into our Doll state so we remember he can blackmail us. He got to you, too, right?”

Princess nodded.

"You poor thing," Kitty murmured while Slick gazed at her sympathetically.

She didn't know how to respond. They acted as if it were a terrible incident. But Princess had quite enjoyed herself...

“It was only the one time?" she asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, honey," Slick assured her, reaching to give her shoulder a soft pat. "It was just the once."

"Unless your vagina's made of gold like Shani's was," Candy muttered, thankfully taking attention from the disappointment on Princess' face.

"Right, Shani," Slick nodded, refocusing. "So, Mr. Keen, or ‘Sir’, as we're supposed to call him, took a shine to Shani. He was always calling her into his office for 'official' reasons."

"How many paperwork errors can one girl have?" Candy asked drily.

"That poor girl got no rest," Slick complained. "She was barely keeping up. Even Dr. Wren argued with him about it. We all heard it.”

"But perfect little Shani was all over the place," Candy smirked. “She was messing around with Dr. Wren-“

"Speculation," Slick pointed out.

"And that hot piece, Zed-"

"Also speculation."

"And she had a lover on the outside,” Candy hinted, smiling wickedly. "Who must've been good if she still had the energy after her shifts..."

"We don't know that she had a lover," Slick allowed. "But she did want out. Maybe she was tired of it, but every time she tried to leave, Sir kept tweaking her contract. At least, that’s what she said."

"Oh, he definitely kept her from leaving," Candy put in. "And all the while, she still had to smile and call him ‘Daddy’ when he wanted. And I don't think that sick fuck had her coming to him in Doll mode, either."

"I really hope you're wrong about that," Slick shook his head grimly.

"What happened to her?" Princess asked curiously.

"She just disappeared," Candy shrugged. "Probably ran for it with whomever she was seeing. Sir certainly wasn't going to let her go, so if she's smart, she's in Atlanta, by now."

"Or with the nomads," Slick sighed dreamily. "Making little nomad babies.”

Candy rolled her eyes. "You know we can't-“

"I know," he replied quickly. "I just like to dream. But none of that matters, anyway, because we've got our new top Doll."

He smiled proudly at Candy who preened in return.

"Most-requested and highest-rated," he lauded, applauding softly with Kitty and Princess, who joined.

"Thank you, thank you," Candy smiled. "I would give a speech about how much hard work I put into it, but I can't say I remember any of it.”

"Well, it's still you doing it," Kitty grinned. "Don't sell yourself short.”

As the three laughed, Princess thought again about their names.

"Why did your names change?" she asked. When the three turned to her, she elaborated. "You said you can't use your own names anymore. But since Shani..."

"Oh, right," Slick nodded. "Well, I guess the whole incident left a sour taste in Sir's mouth. He lost control of his favorite Doll, nearly lost control of his staff, the whole business. So he reset the rules. Wrote up new contracts—"

"We had to be reinitiated,” Candy added grimly. “He’s… scary when he’s angry.”

“Yeah,” Slick agreed. “Kitty arrived after, so she's only dealt with him once, and he'd calmed by then.”

Kitty shifted uncomfortably.

"He changed everything," Slick told Princess. "We use the names he gives us. We don't socialize with the rest of the staff. Most of us signed contracts saying we agree to live here. But he usually ends up loosening on that one.”

"Just don't get him to like you too much," Candy warned. "And if he tells you to call him Daddy like he did with Shani... run."

Princess considered their words carefully. After a moment, she asked, "But aren't we here to do a good job? Don't we want to make him happy?"

"We want to make the clients happy,” Slick pressed. "He should be pleased with just that, but he has trouble keeping his hands out of the honeypot."

She nodded slowly, though she felt even more confused, now. Her one purpose, making Sir happy, may not be her main purpose. She wasn't sure how to contend with that. But how she'd felt, lying on his desk... Was that wrong?

"Don't worry, honey,” Slick assured her. "We've got your back."

"As long as you've got ours," Candy added coolly.

"We look out for each other, here." Kitty smiled happily, then blinked as her eyes flashed a brighter blue. "Oh! A client's here for me. See you later!"

She left the room with a bubbly bounce. Candy threw herself back on her bed with a sigh.

"Just watching that girl exhausts me.”

"Talking about her the moment she leaves the room?" tsked Slick. "Bad form."

"Are you kidding? I wish I had half her energy! I wouldn't be so tired every day."

"Or cranky," he smirked.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Don't you have a client in a few hours? You should get some shut-eye."

"Yeah," Candy agreed wearily. "You're probably right."

"Come on, new girl,” Slick beckoned Princess as he turned off some of the lights, dimming the room. "I'll show you around."

"Oh, okay," she stammered, getting up.

He'd already shown her around, but she remembered her conversation with Dr. Wren. He'd been in his Doll state and wouldn't remember. So, he had no idea that he was the first person to bring her pleasure. No idea how mischievous he'd looked as he'd felt her...

"Hey, your eyes are changing color,” Slick noticed as he closed the door to the sleeping quarters behind them.

"Yeah," she mumbled, blinking as she quickly looked away. "They do that, sometimes.”

"Cool," he smiled before leading her down the hall.

Her second tour was more in-depth since no one was waiting on them, and she got to explore the place as Slick gave her his insight.

Clouds had expanded under the ownership of Mr. Keen. He'd purchased every floor of the vast tower it inhabited, as well as those of the tower next to it, investing in adjoining walkways to connect them. The walkways were black and opaque when viewed from the outside, but clear from the inside. Rumor had it they could be rented as rooms for the fans of exhibitionism. She learned what floors had the pleasure rooms, and what floors had the service rooms for the Dolls. There was even a floor for the offices of the business staff, which begged the question of why Mr. Keen's office was on the same floor as the Dolls' living space.

“You already know why,” Slick told her. "Just stay away from that part of the hall. He's had you once, so he'll most likely leave you alone, but best not to tempt fate.”

There was a security office on every floor, but the big one was on the main pleasure floor.

"That room has video access to every room in this building," Slick informed her. "And yes, every room. I’m pretty sure that's illegal, but I mean... who's gonna report it? Anyway, if a client gets rough with you, security will step in. Every camera feeds into that room. But don't worry, they don't keep the recordings. The clients would have their heads if they did. And the pleasure rooms are only live feeds, no recording.”

"Is that where Zed works?" Princess asked curiously.

"Ah, you've already met our resident badass," Slick smiled. "Yeah, that's Zed’s office. She took over after the old head of security left, which was conveniently around the time of Shani's disappearance. But for the love of the cybernet, do not ask Zed about him! They were close, and she took his leaving hard. She gets testy if he's even mentioned. But she is nice to look at... even for me."

At Princess' questioning glance, he smiled wryly.

"I prefer men,” he shared with a shrug. "But as a Doll, we have to be versatile, I suppose. Still, my own preferences don't matter in my Doll state, now, do they? At least I don't have to remember anything.”

"That doesn't bother you?" she found herself asking.

"Hell, no," he chuckled. "I don't want to remember some sweaty, old man drooling over me, or even sleeping with a woman-any woman. Leave me to my blissful ignorance. Why, does it bother you?"

"I guess..." she hedged. "I just thought... not remembering would be..."

"It’s disorienting," he admitted. "But you'll get used to it, no problem."

She fell silent. She wasn’t bothered about the lack of memory. She didn't seem to have any, anyway. But that feeling... that carnal pleasure... To experience that only to forget it all seemed wasteful. Sad, even. She didn't want to forget. Was that not normal?

They wrapped up the tour within a few hours, though Princess would have liked to explore more. Their last stop was Dr. Wren's clinic, and she looked up as they entered.

"Oh, good, you're back," the doctor stated, waving Princess over. "We have a few more things to go over. Giving her the tour, Slick?"

“Yes, ma’am," he smiled. "Here, Princess, Dr. Wren is your god, and this is her temple. You can come to her for anything, and you can trust her with anything. She is a true miracle worker.”

Dr. Wren rolled her eyes. “I’m just the doctor. Come to me if you’re hurt, sick, or having cyberware issues. That's it."

"Don't let her cold exterior scare you," he told Princess slyly. "She's really a warm, fuzzy teddy bear.”

"Who's going to eat you,” Wren snapped. "Now get out. Patient/doctor confidentiality.”

"That's a thing?!” he asked in faux shock. With a laugh at the doctor's glare, he backed out of the room, closing the door again.

"I wanted to run a few tests on you, if that’s alright," Wren explained, guiding Princess to sit on the medical bed.

Princess nodded, already pulling the cord from the port at her hand.

Dr. Wren gazed at her for a moment as if waiting for something, then took the cord, jacking her in to monitors once more. As the feeds popped onto the screen, she began tapping on her tablet.

"Aren't you going to ask what the test is for?" she asked mildly.

"Should I?" Princess queried innocently.

The doctor frowned but focused on her tablet, occasionally glancing at the monitors.

"Do me a favor,” she instructed after a few moments. “Close your eyes and clear your mind. Try not to think of anything.”

"Okay."

Princess found the task easy. Nothing but blackness filled her thoughts.

"Well, that's... disturbing," Dr. Wren stated after a minute's silence.

Princess opened her eyes again. "Is something wrong?"

"Well... you cleared your mind."

Princess blinked at the concern in her voice. "You told me to."

"Yes, but you shouldn't have been able to. Not to that degree." She took a seat on her stool, watching Princess thoughtfully. "Everyone has stray thoughts, even when they're concentrating. The brain can't stop processing its environment—what it sees, what it hears. Not without a lot of training. Yet you managed to nearly stop your neurological activity completely. For a moment, it was like… no one was there."

She gazed at Princess, who gazed back, at a loss for words.

"Who are you?" Wren asked abruptly. "Where are you from?"

Princess frowned. "You said my name wasn't who I am, anymore. You said this is who I am."

"I know, but... I mean, your actual self doesn't completely disappear. You have something to return to when you leave here, right?"

Princess tried to think, but her memories were like molasses. Old molasses stuck to the bottom of a jar. Her name was one thing, but trying to draw on something deeper...

A vein began to throb at her temple, and her hand drifted up to it, rubbing the spot anxiously.

"I'm not... feeling well," she told the doctor softly. "May I go lay down?"

The doctor sighed, reluctantly unplugging the cable and returning it to her.

"Get your rest," she told her. “Tomorrow, you’ll have your first client, I’m told…”

Princess nodded dutifully and heading back to the sleeping quarters. After a shower and a change, she climbed into an empty bed by the door.

She knew something wasn't right. To not have a clue who she was before made no sense. Strangely, she didn't feel too bothered by that. It simply was. And therein lay the source of her discomfort. Somehow, despite her ready acceptance of this life she'd chosen, she knew it should bother her, the not knowing.

She rolled over fitfully, but her last thought was one that lulled her to sleep. She had her first client tomorrow. Even if she wasn't allowed to remember it, she planned to enjoy it. Especially if she wasn't allowed to see Sir again.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment and a kudos if I earned it! More chapters to come!


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